


The Stanford Trap

by mathilde



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, I do angst, This is what I do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathilde/pseuds/mathilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things don't quit turn out like Sam wanted them.</p>
<p>And maybe that's why it works out, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stanford Trap

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry i don't even know

_“Hypothetically, if I got into college, would you―would you come with me?”_

_A beat. “You can’t leave.”_

_“But, I’m saying―hypothetically, Dean. Just―answer the question, man.”_

_“Yeah, guess I would. College girls, Sammy. College_ girls _.”_

Things don’t quite turn out like this. 

First time Sam mentions Stanford, Dad ignores it. Doesn’t help that they’re being chased by a couple of vampires (really, Sam’s timing couldn’t be worse). Sam’s words are difficult to make out ―they’re all out of breath, panting and spitting saliva and, in Sam’s case, hair that’ll have found its way in his mouth. John just asks him to shut up because, seriously, save your fucking breath, kid.   
  
Second time he mentions Stanford, they’re in the car. Dean and John have had one of their rare arguments and the tension is palpable. Sam opens his mouth and goes, “Hey, so, I got a full ride at Stanford…” but no one comments on it and maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he’ll be lucky enough to get away with this.  

(Dean slams him against the wall of their motel room, that evening, wordless, and makes his feelings about Sam leaving known in a way that leaves finger-shaped bruises on his arms and chest, and the look of utter despair on his brother’s face burned in his mind forever). 

Third time he brings it up is when his dad is asking him what the fuck he’s doing, packing his stuff like this.   
  
The insults start flying before Sam has time to say  _I told you about it a month ago_. John threatens, yet Sam can hear the desperation in his voice―because he might be  _sir_  to Dean, but to him, he’s  _John_ , and dammit, he  _knows_ the man. John threatens, he yells, but he never begs. And Sam’s chest feels lighter than it has in years, when he finds that his father’s words don’t make his heart speed up or his mouth go dry. He’s breaking free. 

He’s getting out. 

He leaves before Dean comes back from wherever he is. John doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t say, “at least say goodbye to your brother,” and Sam has to thank him for that. John might not like to see his youngest son taking off, leaving the life behind, but he’s not going to resort to manipulation to keep him here. Not this time. 

Sam walks to the bus stop, two duffel bags in hand, the amulet heavy on his chest―a reminder of who he’s leaving behind. And if he almost walks back twice to the motel when he hears the Impala pulling in the driveway from afar, he’s not telling anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> also found on tumblr [here](http://www.mathildus.tumblr.com).


End file.
